


Domestic Piranha  Ephemera: A Dirty Story

by Mad Poetess (mpoetess)



Series: Domestic Piranha [38]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Humor, Kink, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mpoetess/pseuds/Mad%20Poetess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there was a vampire drama-llama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Piranha  Ephemera: A Dirty Story

Once upon a time, there was a vampire with mud in his hair. Now, this vampire was a very _unhappy_ vampire, because even though he _hated_ to be compared to his sire in any way, shape, or form, unless it was favorably when the subjects of penis-size or spanking ability arose, one thing he hated even more, just like his sire, was for his hair to look stupid.

The vampire didn't mind having sticky, or mucky, or gucky, or green or even white stuff in his hair, and he didn't even really have anything against mud, but he _did_ mind when it made his hair look stupid, and this mud, which made his hair stick out in about seventeen directions including straight up just like someone we won't mention in comparative terms, and kept dripping down his face right in front of his ears and making him look like he had sideburns, which was _not_ an attractive hairstyle on him, was the stupidmaking kind.

"Help me!" cried the vampire, even though he hated to ask for help unless it was help me get the lid off this lube or help me get these panties into Angel's desk drawer or help me not to laugh _before_ Wesley finds them there... so actually really he didn't have a lot of problem asking for help, come to think of it. But he _did_ hate asking for help to make him not look stupid, because that was like admitting there was a chance he could possibly look stupid, which was uncool and unsuave and undebonair and quite possibly made him look stupid.

So he hated that. But he cried, "Help me!" anyway, and then he added, "Xander." That was his husband, who was smart and funny and made good waffles and would only laugh at the vampire a little bit when he saw the mud and the hair and the stupid. Well, no, he would laugh a lot, but he would be the vampire's husband so unlike anybody _else_ who might laugh at his stupid mud-hair, it would be okay, because the vampire had seen his husband with a cucumber wedged in an indelicate place and had only snickered a little and hadn't even videotaped it much.

"What's wrong?" called the vampire's husband, from another room, and not sounding like he was coming any closer. Perhaps the vampire hadn't put enough forlorn distress into his cry; his husband was human and didn't have a vampire's spiffy-keen hearing, so the nuances between 'Get in here now, it's a matter of life, death, and dignity' and 'What the hell did you do to the TiVo? Baywatch is starting and IT'S NOT RECORDING' were often lost on him. The vampire shouted again, louder, and with more inflection and also more words.

"Help me! There's mud! It's. In. My. Hair. It's making me look like _Him_."

Vampires have really good hearing, which may have been mentioned, but it's worth mentioning again just to emphasize that the vampire was not imagining the sound of titters and a newspaper in the next room rustling and his husband not remotely coming to rescue him. Nor was he imagining the sound of a delicate feminine snort -- which is to say if questioned on pain of staking or looking stupid, he would swear that it was delicate and feminine and not at all warthog-like, at least if his husband wasn't in the room to hide behind -- from much nearer, so near that he didn't really need super spiffy-keen vampire hearing to hear it, or super spiffy-keen vampire eyeballs to see the rolling of delicate feminine and really not at all warthoggy ones right in front of him.

"For God's sake, Spike, it's just a conditioning pack; it's coming off in five minutes. Don't be such a baby or I'll never treat you to another spa day again. And you know how much you love Jeremy's pedicures..."

The vampire didn't stick his tongue out at the not warthoggy eyerolly female Cordelia person, or even the still snickery waffle-making next-roomy already getting _his_ pedicure husband person, but only because he was afraid the mud might drip on it. He hated the taste of mud. And cucumbers.

The End


End file.
